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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247952">Sons of Blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsmile171/pseuds/evilsmile171'>evilsmile171</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - Fandom, Bruce Wayne - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alfred is the best, Batman - Freeform, Detective Gordon Detects, League of Shadows suck, Major Character Deaths and Rebirths, Ninja Vampires, Robin - Freeform, Vampire!Batman, vampire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:46:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsmile171/pseuds/evilsmile171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim Gordon comes to a distraught Alfred Pennyworth about disturbing deaths in Gotham... well he has a suspect in mind. Too bad his man is already dead. And eight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey this is my first Batman fic I've put up, I've read all the important comics except for the vampire batman series soooo let me know if any of this is cannon because I've never actually read it ha. It's set in late Victorian times just because. Alfred is so fun to write and this part of his world is dark... well. you'll see. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alfred Pennyworth sighed as he eyed the gloomy weather that always seemed to hover over the Wayne Estate. It was always hit or miss that the weather would hold up for him to do his monthly check over the grounds. But lately it had been getting colder and gloomier even in the midst of July. And the grounds had seemed to grow wilder and wilder each night. And he wasn’t getting any younger.<br/>
The thought of Martha and Thomas Waynes’ expressions if they saw how derelict their luxurious mansion home had fallen into always shot anxiety up his spine. And gut-wrenching guilt.  He plucked out his umbrella and old sun hat, resigning himself to a wet and depressing day of trying to hold back the inevitable.<br/>
No matter what state the Family was in at this moment, he had to, no needed to provide their memory with the care and attention they bestowed upon their beloved home in life. The weeds needed tending, the path needed replacing, the driveway had scores of grass growing through its cracks, the flowers were rotting in their pots and not to mention the absolute forest that had grown all over the estate.<br/>
And those bloody thorn bushes…<br/>
No matter how hard he worked, or how many workers he hired, those blasted thorns were a bloody nuisance. They grew suddenly and without reason. He’d chop them down one week and the next they’d be just as high or higher on the hedge. It was a constant nightmare.<br/>
Not to mention as of late, there were the howls and screeches of animals growing closer and closer to the house. He’d taken to carrying the old Wayne shotgun around the house, just to give him peace of mind.<br/>
Of course, the work was hard and the nights were gloomy, but Alfred had never been less afraid of his own vices. The Waynes employed him at an age where drinking his night terrors of the war away was the only cure. And with their trust, he needed to be his best. So he was.<br/>
Even after their deaths.<br/>
He took the small path towards the side of the estate first, his little ritual. The rusty gate let out a spine-chilling screech as he passed through. He paid no mind to the closest stones and wound his way back through to the newer section. There he pressed two palms onto the black headstones, his stomach still a pit after all these years.<br/>
“Good Morning, Masters Waynes. Miss Wayne.” He murmured, brushing the dirt off the sides.<br/>
He froze mid-brush onto the smaller headstone, slowly crouching down to look closer. There, the same bloody thorns were growing as though planted at the center of the grave. He started to tear them apart with his own hands, his breath ringing in his ears.<br/>
How dare they?! Grow anywhere but there! Anywhere!<br/>
“Mr. Pennyworth!”<br/>
Alfred shot up at the voice, his spine straightening like he’d never been out of uniform a day in his life.  Up the graveyard path came a familiar face and shame rose over him. Was he a common madman?<br/>
“Are you alright?” The man with thick spectacles and a ragged red moustache reached for his hands. His bare hands he had shredded trying to uproot those bloody thorns. He felt the blood well and drip onto the ground and sighed.<br/>
“Fine, Detective Gordon, just fine. Just doing a little gardening.” He said, thrusting his hands behind him in a proper ‘at ease’ stance.<br/>
The detective frowned but thankfully chose to move on. “Why don’t we go in? I have something I want to show you.”<br/>
Alfred nodded numbly and looked back at the two headstones glumly. How bloody amateur of him. He found a clean patch of sleeve and cleaned off the blood that had dripped onto the grooved lettering of Bruce’s grave. It wasn’t proper to leave his boy looking so unkempt. Not proper at all.<br/>
He led the path back up to the mansion, keeping pressure on his throbbing wounds. Gordon followed without a word and sank into a chair at the kitchen bar gazing into the fireplace with a grim expression. Alfred brought out the bandages he was going to use for after his gardening around the grounds. Bloody thorns. He rubbed cleaning ointment over his hands and then wrapped a clean linen around the gashes.<br/>
He then busied himself with putting the kettle on, and drawing out herbs for Gordon’s tea. He thought he had some fresh made scones somewhere- (aha!) and started to pull out the jams for the Detective’s selection. He would need a nice plate of fruit, perhaps something from his personal garden. He almost made it to the door when he was interrupted.<br/>
“Mr. Pennyworth- please sit down.” Gordon held out a hand.<br/>
“I won’t be but a mo’, sir. I’m afraid our tea time’s fresh fruit has yet to be picked.” Alfred said as cheerily as he could.<br/>
“I insist, please. What I have to show you is urgent and… well I don’t want to waste time.” He said grimly.<br/>
Alfred felt a stirring of dread as he sat, not wanting to know. Wishing Gordon could say his piece and then wipe Alfred’s mind. The horrors this place had seen had been too much… How could there be more?<br/>
“I apologize for my abrupt visit, Mr. Pennyworth.” Detective Gordon said as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I’m afraid what I have to show you might be troubling.”<br/>
“Call me Alfred, please Detective. As if you haven’t been fielding my mad calls at all hours of the night these past ten years.” He felt his bandaged hands tremble.<br/>
Troubling? What could possibly be more troubling than the three unexplained Wayne murders?<br/>
Gordon fixed his glasses and said glumly. “Alfred, then, if you please. We have been getting some disturbing reports overseas.”<br/>
“My neck of the woods overseas?” he couldn’t help but ask bitterly.<br/>
“Let me finish before you interrupt, please sir. Not just England but Nepal, Japan, the Indies and the Middle East too. Scotland yard sent over a photo of that Jack the Ripper character and it struck me as odd.” The man said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “The description the police have is much younger than what the papers are going with. And that note to the editor is fake or I’m the Queen of England, beggin ya pardon sir.”<br/>
“She’s no friend to me, no pardon needed.” Alfred’s mouth twisted uneasily. “Alright so that right blighter Jack is young. What does that got to do with the Waynes’ murders?”<br/>
“Well… folks are up and dying in strange ways all over Gotham too. And fast. Police say it could be up to a hundred folk turning up dead, drained of blood.” The irish cops’ eyes winced as he said the secret description of the Waynes’ murder.<br/>
Alfred felt his blood turn cold. “That Jack the Ripper is… the Waynes’ murderer?”<br/>
Gordon took a deep breath and pulled out a carefully folded paper from his jacket pocket. “I won’t tell before I show, Alfred. Take a look at this and tell me what you see…”<br/>
He leaned forward to study the page but all he felt was pure horror. That… that can’t be. He was a field medic. An army man. He’d been trained by the best and this… well this had to be a joke.<br/>
“What is this?” Alfred asked, looking up angrily.<br/>
“Just what I said, a flyer of the exact description of this Jack the Ripper character sent from overseas. He’s been confirmed to be in England, Nepal, Japan, the Indies and the middle east. Same as those gruesome Wayne murders…” Gordon eyes twitched away from Alfred’s gaze and something in him broke.<br/>
He lunged for the detective, caught him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Then he roared, “YOU RIGHT PRAT! HOW DARE YOU COME IN HERE WITH THIS… THIS JOKE!”<br/>
“Mr. Pennyworth! Please!” Gordon’s grip on his wrist was weak. Weaker than any cop in Gotham ought to have.<br/>
“AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR YOU, YOUR CAREER?! AFTER WHAT YOU PROMISED ME?!  YOU COME IN HERE WITH THIS… BLOODY LIE?!” Alfred bellowed “FUCK RIGHT OFF AND NEVER DARKEN MY DOOR AGAIN!”<br/>
He threw the irish cop to the ground like his army strength had never left. The man crashed into the table and knocked it on its side. He was gasping like a fish out of water.<br/>
Fucking arsewipe, too many doughnuts and not enough hard work. On the Waynes’ dime too! His rage built right up all over again.<br/>
“I understand, Alfred, I do. If anyone accused my little girl of… that well. Or bringing up her death again after years of no leads… nothing? I know what this looks like but… You see it too? This can’t be a coincidence.”<br/>
“You fucking prick…” Alfred felt like taking him out back and decking him, ability to arrest him be damned.<br/>
“I know. I understand. But you can’t ignore the facts. That’s… that’s little Brucie Wayne.”<br/>
“The hell it is!”<br/>
“Who else could that look like?! That’s Thomas’ strong jaw, Martha’s eyes, his grandfather Patrick’s nose. Tell me how else five other countries all agree on this base description for these murders?!”<br/>
“Who… have you told about this?! You fucking… absolute…” He was speechless with rage.<br/>
“No one. I promised you Alfred, you’d be the first to know any and all theories or leads. I’ll not break that now. Besides… this is not normal. I saw his body. We were there for the autopsy. We buried the boy together… Lucius even closed the lid one last time.”<br/>
The detective picked himself up slowly and dusted off his jacket. His guilty gaze flickered to and from Alfred’s growing fury.<br/>
“I’ll… see myself out. You can keep that; I have the only other copy. All I’ll say is this: those murders are coming back to Gotham and… well just keep safe, old friend.”<br/>
Gordon put on his hat and left quickly. Alfred just glared at the spot he vacated.<br/>
************<br/>
All the work and chores he had to do and all Alfred could do was stare at the flyer.<br/>
Brucie Wayne was forever eight years old, not this twenty-year-old monstrosity. This… Ripper fella. Murderous wretch.<br/>
The bright cheery smile of a boy riding on his father’s shoulders, giggling when his mom blew him a kiss… no. That boy was gone and buried.<br/>
As were his parents. All dead in a single night. Alfred in jail, Lucius fighting for his release and Gordon gathering facts and over-emulating sympathy for the man who’d just lost his employers. His only family left.<br/>
Alfred will never forgive Gordon for this. This was… pure poppycock. Shite.<br/>
But… five countries? All singled around a description only Alfred could give?<br/>
There had to be a reasonable explanation. An illegitimate kid Thomas or Patrick failed to mention, a very distant cousin? Something…<br/>
But as he touched the paper… there was no one who could look like that other than a son of Wayne. No one.<br/>
And that meant beautiful innocent Brucie Wayne came back from the dead to murder and kill hundreds of Gothamites. People he loved and one day wanted to help as his father did.<br/>
Alfred shuddered at the thought and threw the paper into the fireplace. Watching it burn calmed his nerves. He felt a tad guilty for attacking Gordon but…<br/>
No. If he was going to remember anything, it was that the Waynes were good people. Brucie Wayne and his parents are dead and never coming back.<br/>
He would never believe the shite that Gordon had just come up with. Never.<br/>
A loud thunk came from inside the house. Alfred chewed on his lip for a moment and then jumped when he heard it again. He took a candle and the shotgun as he followed the sound.<br/>
He wound through the dark halls of the manor, pausing every few minutes to listen and then head in the direction of the noise.<br/>
If another bloody bat got into the manor again, he was going to board up all windows and fireplaces, drafty bedrooms be damned!<br/>
He remembered a time when Brucie cried over the sight of a dying bat on their living room carpet. His tender heart begged Alfred to keep it, nurse it back to health. Alfred had to explain patiently what rabies was and that it was dangerously ill. Brucie wouldn’t look at him for a week after he put it down. But he did hold his hand during the faux funeral they gave it in the backyard.<br/>
Alfred swallowed as the noise called to him from the study. He raised his candle, drawing the shadows away and stepped inside. The shotgun raised to his shoulder, just in case. Looters had tried getting in once… only once.<br/>
Alfred slid silently in, his training breaking through as his eyes swept around the room, looking for a target. A fluttering noise brought him to a sight of another dying bat. This one covered in blood and gasping. How in the dickens did they keep getting in?!<br/>
He leaned the shotgun on the desk and stood over it. Careful not to touch, he examined the pitiful creature. Bitemarks on its wings and tiny body. However, the puncture wounds were much bigger than another tiny bat’s mouth could do. Curious…<br/>
Alfred startled as he heard another screech/moan. His head jerked to the source of the noise. The… walls? They were in the manor’s walls?!<br/>
Alfred sighed as he ran his hands over the dark mahogany walls, built long ago by one of the first Waynes in the 17th century. He hated to think of the extermination job that would break open the gloriously ancient walls and destroy the history there.<br/>
Another moan… further left of the fireplace? Alfred tapped the wall there, wondering if maybe this old manor had hidden secrets he could find… He found it hollow behind the old grandfather clock.<br/>
Examining the clock, he tried to move it to the side but it wouldn’t budge. For the life of him he couldn’t even move it an inch. Bollocks.<br/>
He ran his hands over the clock, wondering if… just maybe he’d found a hidden entrance. He turned the time on the clock, listening to the ticks of the hands. Like a safe. He wound the clock all the way through daytime and nothing. It was only at 11:47 did he hear a louder click. Then the clock slid to the left revealing a large dark hole.<br/>
Alfred poked his head inside, in awe that this was here the whole time. Did Thomas know? He must have. Alfred brought the small candle with him and after a small consideration, left the shotgun where it was. It was too bulky to bring into the cavern.<br/>
He held his hand out on the cold rocky walls as he followed the hole, down, down what seemed hours of walking. He paused every time he heard screeches followed by a loud echo. A sound almost human. It made him shiver through his bones.<br/>
He could laugh at himself. Just bats. The old manor may seem gloomy and haunted but really, all his woes were those bloody thorns and bats.<br/>
He finally found a small opening in the path, a rocky edge that led out to a small trickling of water. He was amazed to find a small waterfall was splashing the pool’s edge. This was ingenious. The cave system had water. No wonder the Waynes settled so far away from town. He’d always wondered why here amongst the rocks and forest.<br/>
Alfred set the candle down and drew his hand through the cold water. He splashed some on his face and felt much better. Echoes of the waterfall and screeches of bats. All he needed to worry about was those bloody creatures up and dying in the manor. Miss Martha would have a field day!<br/>
A small sound alerted Alfred that something was behind him. He slowly rose up from where he crouched over the water and then turned around quickly.<br/>
Nothing.<br/>
His suspicious gaze looked up, expecting to see bats roosting or perhaps flying over his head.<br/>
What was up there was much worse.<br/>
A large creature crawled on all fours above him, hissing as its dark red eyes met Alfred’s wide blue ones.<br/>
It seemed to leap and it crashed down in front of him, almost gracefully. It drew up to its full height and advanced on him.<br/>
No, no nononononono…<br/>
Alfred fell backwards into the shallow pool as the creature slid into the light. The splash sent the candle dark and Alfred’s eyes hurried to adjust. Find the horror. Find it, old boy. He searched frantically for the thing before it found him. He had a terrible feeling it could see in the dark.<br/>
A low growl sounded from behind him and he slowly turned.<br/>
Brucie Wayne, in all his elder glory stood behind him and hissed. Its feral eyes drew over Alfred, sizing him up, his fangs (fangs!) glinted in the low light and it lunged.<br/>
Long claws drew around Alfred’s neck and pulled him up over the creature’s head, one armed strength. He couldn’t speak or even give a shout before it pulled him almost nose to nose with the horror.<br/>
“Leave. Don’t come back.” It roared.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Gordon. He’s back. He’s here. I SAW him!” he said frantically, feeling his arms shake but unable to let go of the Detective. </p><p>“Alf, who? Who did you see?” He asked, his wife behind him eyeing them with fear.</p><p>“Brucie. Little Brucie Wayne. He’s a monster, I don’t…” Alfred felt hysterical. “You gotta believe me, mate he’s… oh lord he’s back.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I got this fic idea from play sims 4. Sometimes creativity hits in the weirdest places. ha!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2:</p><p>It threw him bodily away from the pool and he felt his shoulder give a twinge of protest. Alfred scrambled to stand and put his back to the wall. </p><p>The thing only gave a low roar at him and that was enough. Alfred bolted up the path towards the house and didn’t stop once until he burst through the clock wall and collapsed onto the floor. With the last of his strength he shut the clock and scrambled on hands and knees away from it. He was shaking badly as he pulled the shotgun over his strained<br/>
shoulder and aimed it at the clock. He’d kill it. He would. He killed worse. </p><p>But as shaken as he was the gun couldn’t aim for shit. He gave up and just clutched the gun to his chest, waiting.  </p><p>He waited a good long time, long enough to see that the sun had set through the study windows. It didn’t give him any comfort to know that… thing was in the manor alone with him in the dark. </p><p>Alfred realized his breath was coming in loud gasps and he clapped a soiled bandaged hand to his mouth. It didn’t help and only turned his gasps into whimpers. Tears were streaming freely down his face.</p><p>He couldn’t… that couldn’t be him. No. What… the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck? </p><p>Detective Gordon was right. Oh lord in heaven, Gordon was right. What was he to do now?!</p><p>Wait a tick… Gordon!</p><p>Alfred slowly raised himself, eyes glued to the clock. He crept as quietly and soundlessly as he ever could in the SAS. When he got to the door, arms still wrapped around his shaking shotgun, he bolted. As fast as he could and as far as he could. He ran through the manor and out to the grounds. Then he ran all the way to the garage and pulled key after key down, looking for something that matched the stupid automobiles. But in his hurry, he dropped the keys in a meson the floor, nothing matched. His heart was too jumpy to stop and search, so he ran. </p><p>He ran hours and hours, holding his shotgun like he did in his twenties running through the Indies. He hauled himself through downtown Gotham, probably giving half the town a fright. He didn’t care, all he cared about was how fast and how quick he could get to the Detective. He must have run all night for as he came onto the Gordon’s small brownstone in downtown, he collapsed onto the porch pounding on the door with frightful urgency as the sun just started to rise.</p><p>Gordon burst open the door, a thundering look on his sleep hazed eyes. He gathered Alfred up and wound an arm over his shoulders, leading him in. </p><p>“You were right.” Alfred gasped, babbling. “Lord in heaven above, you were right Detective. I didn’t want to believe it but my god…” </p><p>Gordon only patted Alfred’s chest, leading him to the ratty brown couch in his living room. He dumped the man onto the couch and was then pulled down by his shirt by the old butler. </p><p>“Gordon. He’s back. He’s here. I SAW him!” he said frantically, feeling his arms shake but unable to let go of the Detective. </p><p>“Alf, who? Who did you see?” He asked, his wife behind him eyeing them with fear.</p><p>“Brucie. Little Brucie Wayne. He’s a monster, I don’t…” Alfred felt hysterical. “You gotta believe me, mate he’s… oh lord he’s back.” </p><p>Gordon nodded to his wife and she ran to the kitchen. </p><p>“Alfred you gotta calm down. Tell me what happened but you have to…” </p><p>Alfred’s gasps only hitched higher as the shaking drew harder. </p><p>Gordon firmly pulled Alfred’s hands away and slapped the man across the face. Hard. </p><p>Alfred looked dumbstruck as he rubbed his jaw but the breathing calmed down enough that the only hysteria were the tears streaming down his face. </p><p>“Thanks mate. I needed that.” He mumbled. </p><p>“Don’t mention it. Now let’s get a nice cup of tea for you and we can talk.” </p><p>Barbara Gordon raced back with warm tea for Alfred and coffee for the other two. </p><p>Alfred shuddered as the warmth from the tea ran down his throat. </p><p>“Yeah I’ll… yes… thank you, mate. I can talk now.” He said, hands only shaking a bit.<br/>
*********************</p><p>“How is he?” His wife asked, badly misplaced fear hidden beneath her concern. </p><p>Gordon could relate. He wanted to push his fear away as well. But Alfred’s story had simply shaken him to the core. It was one thing to suspect someone was back from the dead… it was another to actually confirm it. </p><p>“He’s asleep.” He grunted, running through pages of reports he’d already checked and double checked before he even went to see Alfred Pennyworth yesterday. Fresh eyes and ideas flowed through him. And a healthy dose of fear.</p><p>“Should we call someone?” She asked timidly. </p><p>Code: get this lunatic out of my house immediately. His wife was an open book, an honest woman who fiercely loved her family. It was hell on her that the dangers his job put them all in. </p><p>“He’s got no one to call, hon.” He said softly. </p><p>Barbara sunk onto the kitchen table, her third cup of coffee warming her hands. She had tried to not listen in but like all his cases, she’d been drawn into the story with horror in her eyes. He hated that look. </p><p>“Momma?” a small voice asked. </p><p>“In the kitchen sweetie!” She called out. </p><p>Little Barbara Gordon or Babs, his eldest, was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she appeared. </p><p>“Who’s that man on our couch?” </p><p>“Dad’s friend from work.” She said softly, sending him a look. </p><p>Damn. </p><p>Gordon heaved out a long sigh. “I’m going in my study.” </p><p>Barbara started on breakfast and gave him another look and jerked her head towards Babs. He sighed again and rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Sweetie, you remember Alfred Pennyworth, don’t ya? We went to his house for my job once and he made you pancakes.” He explained. </p><p>Babs nodded solemnly. “His friends went away.” </p><p>Jim felt the world on his shoulders knowing his 4-year-old daughter already knew about death because of him. God he was a terrible father.   </p><p>“Yeah… well he might stay a while. He’s a good friend from work. But I don’t want you to wake him just yet. He needs his rest.” </p><p>Babs gave him a cheeky smile. “Will he play dolls with me when he wakes?” </p><p>Jim chuckled. “Maybe, sweetheart. But remember to-!”</p><p>“Ask! I know!” she cried out. </p><p>Barbara shushed her. Then her face crumpled as they heard a lone cry. </p><p>“He’s up.” She said to him. “Check on these eggs for me, Jim.” </p><p>He just grunted and kept flicking through his files. It wasn’t until a small giggle rang out at the black smoke pouring out from the stove that he remembered to check the eggs. They were ruined and Babs was giggling at his blunder. God he was a terrible husband.</p><p>Barbara rushed downstairs with two-year-old James on her hip with a frown. </p><p>“Really Jim?” She scolded him. “We have company and you can’t even stop eggs from burning?!”</p><p>“I was researching for-!”</p><p>“Your case, yeah I know!” she snapped. “Like always.”</p><p>Jim sighed as she bustled around angrily, fixing his mess. Always fixing his messes. </p><p>It was either from the smoke or the loud babbling from James that Alfred woke and appeared in their kitchen doorway looking impeccably dressed for someone who slept on his couch. </p><p>“Good morning Mr. Pennyworth.” Barbara said politely as she stirred the eggs in the pan again. </p><p>He blinked once and settled beside his wife, aiding her with the cooking. He made them French toast with the extra cinnamon they had left over from Christmas. It was delicious. </p><p>Babs talked excitedly about going to school in a year and Alfred listened to her seriously. Jim’s heart broke for him a little bit, thinking about how good of a mentor he would have<br/>
been for Brucie Wayne. </p><p>Or at least the Brucie Wayne who wasn’t an undead creature…</p><p>Jim shuddered to think about the implications of a… creature coming back to life looking like poor Brucie Wayne. </p><p>“I’m going into the office today.” </p><p>“It’s Sunday.” Barbara said at once. </p><p>“I know. I’m sorry.” </p><p>She turned her disappointed face back to her food. Alfred pushed around his food a bit and then spoke up. </p><p>“I’d like to go in with you, Detective Gordon.” </p><p>Gordon sighed but nodded. He’d catch hell for working on this case again. Without his Captain’s permission. Again.</p><p>Babs smiled her gapped tooth smile up at them both and said, “Have a good day at work daddy!” </p><p>He kissed her cheek until she giggled and then gave his wife a quick peck. “I’ll call if I’m home late.” </p><p>“If?” Barbara muttered sullenly. </p><p>He pretended to not hear it. </p><p>Alfred and Jim walked the cursory two blocks over to the old GCPD building in silence. Unfortunately, Alfred knew his way around and nothing much had changed in ten years.<br/>
He settled politely down into a chair on the side of Gordon’s desk as the detective dove into the large pile he had accumulated about this case. </p><p>“Do you have any ideas?” he asked, hushed. </p><p>“Some.” Gordon grunted. “I’ve tracked him across the globe and the murders have only started up around here in the last month or so. Mostly street people, ones who nobody’ll miss.” </p><p>Alfred bit his lip and then seemed to steel himself for what he was about to say. </p><p>“Do you think Brucie Wayne killed his parents?” </p><p>Gordon felt his heart stop at that. He couldn’t fathom that thought, it was too painful. </p><p>“Unlikely.” Gordon tried to be comforting but well… he’d never got that knack down. </p><p>Captain Barnes strode up and crossed his arms angrily. “Oh for the love of-! Not this again!” </p><p>Alfred jumped up and smiled at the captain. “Nice to see you again, Captain Barnes.” </p><p>“Gordon, with me.” The captain beckoned him to follow. </p><p>He got up and followed his boss to his office and sat in his usual chair. Gordon patiently waited for the yelling to start. </p><p>“Why are you bringing up that horrid cold case again?!” Barnes bellowed, pacing behind his desk. </p><p>“We might have a break in the Ripper-like murders. They fit the profile of the Wayne murders to a T.” Gordon explained slowly. </p><p>Barnes stopped mid-stride and looked at him, stricken. “So you’re throwing another cold case at an already shut cold case?! Are you insane?!” </p><p>Gordon shook his head. “I have someone who can recognize the murderer in those cases. He and I know this man.” </p><p>Barnes closed his eyes and then looked up to the ceiling, seeming to count to ten. </p><p>“Alfred and you know the identity of the Ripper murderer and you think this person is the one terrorizing Gotham by draining all the hookers of blood?” He asked in disbelief. </p><p>“I… yes.” He said uncertainly. “I definitely have tracked this man to Gotham but…” </p><p>“But what?” </p><p>“Well the man has been dead for ten years.” He said frowning. </p><p>“Oh for cryin out loud! Gordon! Work on the cases you’ve been given! Leave those cold cases where they belong!” Barnes yelled again; hands slammed down on the desk. “In storage! That’s an order Detective!”</p><p>Gordon sighed but nodded. He’d let it go… for now. </p><p>He stalked back to his desk, a fire burning in his gut, knowing what he was doing was right. </p><p>Alfred stood and shook his head. “He’d warned you off the case again?” </p><p>“Yeah. But to hell with it. Let’s go talk to those girls.” He said furiously. </p><p>Alfred grinned. “Right-o Detective. Let’s go.”<br/>
**************<br/>
In the darkness of his family’s home, he felt safe. The cravings weren’t so bad if he didn’t leave. He’d just reach up and grab a bat or two and sate his bloodlust. It wasn’t hard. Sometimes he’d sleep and wake and sleep and wake. Months felt like seconds, years felt like minutes. And the pain… well it wasn’t so bad when he was unconscious. </p><p>He was tired. Too tired of the guilt, the anger, the rage coursing through his blood. </p><p>But he knew… he’d find them here. </p><p>The people who killed his parents… They were in Gotham and… well this time he’d get his revenge. </p><p>His super speed led him out the secret waterfall entrance without getting wet. Bats streamed all around him, knowing exactly what they both wanted.<br/>
It was dusk, and it was time to hunt.</p>
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